


Unforeseen

by EAbbene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22769215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EAbbene/pseuds/EAbbene
Summary: As a wise witch once said, going into business with a Weasley was just one step away from falling into bed with one.  Isn't that how Potter landed their sister?  Pansy Parkinson didn't mean to involve herself with the Weasley twins, and if she had picked one to become involved with, it wouldn't have been Fred.  And for a talented Seer, she certainly didn't see this one coming.  Sometimes we don't choose our friendships, and fate does it for us.  And sometimes, fate has a bigger plan in place than we may have realized.  The best things are always the ones we didn't see coming.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Fred Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/George Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. An Unlikely Partnership

**Author's Note:**

> There are two things in life for which we are never truly prepared: twins. -Josh Billings

If you asked Molly Weasley, she would tell you it all started with a spoon, but I can assure you it did not. If you asked George Weasley, he would probably disagree with his mother and helpfully point out it started with the final battle. Shows how much he knows. I was there, this story is about me after all. And I can assure you it started with the Inquisitorial Squad.

I was making my rounds on the fifth floor, charms corridor, when I stumbled upon a Mr. Fred Weasley putting the finishing touches on what I assumed to be the prank of the century. I am frequently correct in these matters. Less so than Granger, but Granger has never proclaimed to have the sight, so sometimes I do have a slight advantage. 

“Shouldn’t you be studying for NEWTs or something?” I ask, crossing my arms over my admittedly flat chest. 

“Shouldn’t you be off studying for OWLs?”

“It isn’t ladylike to get above average grades, I’ll manage an A or E on everything without losing any beauty sleep.”

“Ah, yes, I heard that real ladies never get an O in their life,” he sniggers, amused at the dirty joke of his own making.

“So, what are you and George planning? This is rather elaborate, even for your track record.” I gesture to the large number of glowing glass bottles placed along the corridor. 

“Who’s to say I’m not George?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Me.” I reply. It’s an odd talent, but I can tell the twins apart no matter the time or place. One of them happens to kick my heart into high gear, while the other is simply… like everyone else. One of them lights up a room and pulls all of the oxygen from my lungs, and the other… might as well be Ron Weasley. Who is decidedly less attractive than his twin brothers. 

“I’m surprised. Well…. Just as a heads up, I wouldn’t touch any of those, and I’d avoid this area in the future. You might need a nice little workaround if you need to get to Charms Class this way.”

“Noted,” I quirk an eyebrow at the green glowing orbs. “Well…. Since you’re technically not breaking any of the rules…”

“We’re starting a shop,” he blurts out. “It’s going to be a joke shop.”

“Bully for you,” I snort. “I’m surprised you have the capital for it.”

“We’ve got quite the owl order business going already. Don’t pretend you haven’t heard. And a silent investor who has contributed to our nest egg. We found the perfect spot just off Diagon.”

“Everyone knows you have to be on Diagon if you want to make it,” I sneer, hating myself just a little. “You should save up to have the real deal.”

“Our products will speak for themselves, draw people off Diagon,” he protests.

“Sure… I’m sure.” I say. “I’ve always wondered what the two of you would do after graduation.”

“We aren’t waiting until then,” he says suddenly. “Why do you think I’m not worried about NEWTs?”

“Wait, what?” I frown in confusion, snapping my eyes to his blue ones. “You’re leaving?”

“Yup,” he brags, rocking back on his feet.

“When?” I gasp.

“Tomorrow,” he laughs. “This place is getting suffocating.”

I feel like I’m suffocating. He’s leaving? He’s leaving? There is the very real possibility I will never see him again, which is… frankly… terrifying. I want to change his mind, but I know that stubborn Weasley look on his face. “Well, I hope I get to see you off,” I say instead. “I’m sure it will be something to see.”

“You bet,” he winks at me. 

“So… ummm…. Where’s George?” I ask after a beat.

“I think he’s off in the great hall?” Fred answers absently. 

“Well… um… best of luck… I’ll stop by that shop of yours… If it’s on Diagon, I suppose,” I finish awkwardly.

“What? No detention? No loss of house points?”

“What’s the point? You said you’d be gone tomorrow,” I shrug. He smiles at me. That half grin with the dimple on the wrong side. 

“You know… you’re almost alright. For a slytherin.”

“You can return the favor later,” I suggest with a scrunch of my nose and a turn on my heel. 

I never make it to the great hall to see George. I end up getting pulled into a mess with some third years, and being a prefect I can’t just back out and say, ‘you’re on your own, later suckers.’ Although, that would be rather nice in that sort of situation. Instead, I help them to the hospital wing and pretend to be a good person while I’m seething and biting my nails on the inside. 

I never do get that last chance to see George Weasley off from Hogwarts. The last I see of him is his (very sexy) behind riding off into the distance over the lake on his broom, high fiving his twin. I sigh, hoping my next schoolgirl crush isn’t so intense, or heartbreakingly painful and embarrassing at the same time. Hindsight being what it is, I can assure you it isn’t, but only because I don’t ever truly get over that gryffindork George Fabian Weasley. 

I break down a mere week into summer. I send my owl off with a request for their catalog. Their picture is right on the front, standing back to back wearing purple robes, their orange hair matching the orange of the magazine. It’s annoying when the moving letters of WEASLEY’S WIZARDING WHEEZES scroll over his face every few minutes on their trek around the cover. He’s so handsome. I immediately remove the cover and pin it to my wall like a glorified quidditch poster. My cover wizard winks at me and his brother sends me an irritating finger gun. I spend a few days flipping through the catalog, wondering if I placed an order, if they would notice the name on the package, or think twice of me. I daydream about him hand delivering it, saying he wanted to say hi, because he’d always secretly noticed me. Daphne snorts and asks me what I would order in this scenario, because none of it is very romantic, or anything she can see me ordering without having completely lost my mind (which she points out in fairness that I apparently already have considering who I’ve been crushing on for the past year). 

It’s pathetic really, mooning over a guy two years older, in a rival house, who is so completely out of your league he doesn’t even know your name. I’d be better off with a thing for Ron, who at least knows who I am. George has never looked my way once. Daphne laughed that I could dance naked outside his window, and he probably still wouldn’t notice me. Which is unfair considering not all of us hit an early puberty like she did. Or that horrible girl he took to the Yule ball last year. Alicia Spinnet. And her stupid hair, and her stupid boobs, and her stupid stupid lips.

I send off for some of their trick sweets and Fred actually sends me a little personal note with them, snarky as always. "Didn’t know you were into this sort of thing. I thought you preferred to eat slugs." 

Must have heard about that one from Ron. I wonder if George had heard as well. That story doesn’t exactly put me in the best of lights, but I was very young. Being friends with Draco has always gotten me in trouble as it were. I owl back.

"There isn’t much in your catalog to catch the eye of a young witch, but I wanted to support your little endeavor. "

The reply I receive is rather rude. "Sorry we don’t sell anything that catches your eye. George would probably pimp himself out if he knew it was profitable."

I gasp. He knows. Instead, I decide to ignore the jab. Instead, I mail one of my experimental potions back. Serves him right.

Three days later, presumably when the effects have finally worn off, I get a reply.  
"I spent two days infatuated with Miles Bletchey. You’re a genius. Have a business proposition for you."

And that’s really where this all started, because going into business with the Weasley’s is just one step away from getting into bed with one of them. Just ask Potter. He’s their other silent investor.

Fred wanted to meet in person, and so we met for ice cream. A muggle shop, not nearly as good as Fortescues, just outside of London. He asked me what kind of experimental potions I had messed about with, and if they were all as clever as the one I had sent via owl. Before I realized what was happening we were discussing an entire line of products, I was sketching out packaging on the back of a napkin with a conjured quill and pink ink. 

“This is brilliant, appeals to the mums in the store with their kids, the older girls too sophisticated for pranks. It’s that oomph we needed to really expand our market into an entire physical shop.”

“What are you going to tell George?” I ask. 

“What do you want me to tell him?” he asks.

“I… I don’t want him to know it’s me. I don’t… It’s not exactly the way I want him to notice me. That love potion girl.”

“Fair enough. Although I suspect your motives might be since you plan to use them on him at a later date?”

“FRED!” I protest, slapping his arm. “No… it’s just… I don’t want to be that girl. I want to be… I don’t know… the girl he sees walking by on the street and just has to say hello.”

“Umm… you have met my brother right?” asks Fred.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“You’ve met Ron though,” prods Fred.

“Of course.”

“George is almost as dense as Ron about some things. Took ages for him to notice Alicia had a thing for him.”

“Of course… I… Well… I’d just as soon be a silent partner.”

And that was how my line of Wonder Witch products started. Fred took half the profits, and owled me the rest monthly, which to be honest was soon a pretty hefty sum. My parents would say commerce is menial, and below us. I would tell them the Malfoys have been in it for years, and while my family’s traditional place has been in the ministry either politically or with the department of Mysteries, my experiemental potions and charms are rather clever. Besides, it’s not as if I put our name on it. Although, the girl on the box does look a bit like me.

I spent a couple hours every Hogsmead weekend going over the books with Fred in Madame Puddifoot’s. We liked to go there for the frilly pink inspiration and the scones. It was there we came up with Everlasting Lipstick, and it took me the rest of the semester to develop. 

We’d catch up, and I’d pass along the latest batches of product. I insisted on making it all myself, but I did allow him to package things for me. He’d go over the books and give me a cheque for the latest of my shares. It was all rather businesslike. It wasn’t until the war really started that things became difficult.

The following summer, when the war broke out, my parents had decided to remain neutral, but we had close ties to people who were not. Dad’s always been at St. Mungo’s and mum’s never worked a day in her life. My older brothers who work in the ministry were told to keep their heads down and their ears on alert and to head home in case of danger. Grandad finagled them foreign assignments within the first few months of the war, and soon, half my family was abroad, and I was headed back to Hogwarts. 

WWW switched over to OWL order after a close call raid in Diagon. I owled everything to Fred, who owled it out. We rarely met. The first few Hogsmead weekends of the year, but then, those were canceled. There were four arranged visits in the castle that he managed via the forbidden forest. He of course kept me up to date on the war at these visits. I knew that everyone could tell him apart from George as easily as I could now. 

“I’m afraid,” he confided to me. It was late April, and we were sitting in Hagrid’s hut. It was unused since the teacher had left at the end of last term, following a blow out fight with the Carrows over the mistreatment of one of his creatures. He’d gone off into the forest, and hasn’t been seen since. But it made for a convenient place for Fred and me to meet. 

“Me too. I… I can almost see what’s coming. It isn’t good.” My dreams had been filled with blood and green curses. The most familiar thing about it all was that all of my dreams happened at Hogwarts. Which at the time didn’t really make sense. The dreams were a mix of reality and nightmare, and I wasn’t able to make heads or tails yet. The worst were the ones of bodies, lined up in rows, mangled and faceless, wands still clutched in dead lifeless grasps. I would wake up gasping for air after Millicent tossed a pillow my way. Madame Pomphrey was getting suspicious about all the dreamless sleep I was asking for. 

Fred and I were good friends at this point, so he was familiar with my visions. I’d gotten him out of a bind or two with them. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, Wonder Witch is still flying off the shelves. You’ll be a very rich woman when this is all over.”

“Hell with that. I was a rich woman before this all started. My dowry is probably more than your rich old Auntie Muriel’s net worth.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re one of those.”

“So are you. Your mum had a dowry. Spent it all feeding your overgrown family, but she had one.”

“Hard to think of mum like that.”

“Your sister should have one too. You’ll have to provide it as the well off brother,” I suggested. 

“That’s a laugh. Ginny would spit on the idea.”

“She’ll just end up marrying perfect Potter. Their babies will be as reckless as they are,” I said, not fully acknowledging that I had indeed seen a vision to match that.

“If I survive the war, might find a nice girl, settle down, have a few brats.” It was inevitable that we eventually came to this conversation. We usually did. I called it, what we’d do after the war. But tonight, it led somewhere new, somewhere… darker. It might have been the whiskey, or the moonlight peeking in the window, or the fact that his entire family had recently gone into hiding, and mine was slowly pulling out roots and preparing to head for Europe as soon as I graduated.

“I’ve never seen that far for you… or me… I don’t tend to see things close to me.”

“So… you’re saying I’m going to die a virgin,” he complains into the whiskey he had found in Hagrid’s cupboards. 

“No….” I laugh into my drink. 

“There’s only one way to prevent this.” He announces. He waves his arms in a grand gesture, and I worry he’s going to knock over our sole candle.

“My Wonder Witch Love products specifically don’t motivate people that far,” I point out helpfully.

“No… just pretend I’m George. I’ll make it good for you, and I can go into battle knowing the love of a beautiful woman.”

“Stop being ridiculous. I’d know it was you. I always know it’s you. And as much as… no… you’re… I’m not that drunk,” I protest with a giggle as he makes kissing noises. 

“It might be your only chance to get your hands on a Weasley twin, and I am the more intact model. I’ve always had a thing for girls with dark curls. And your tits have really worked their way from Acceptable to Outstanding this year.” I look down at my chest, covered in several layers, but much more prominent than it was in previous years. I have finally blossomed as my mother pointed out over Easter Holidays.

“Merlin, is this all wizards think about? Tits and sex?” I scoff before tilting my head and looking at him with a calculating look. He’s very handsome, and his hands are rough and calloused from his work, and his shoulders broad under the dark sweater. His hair falls over his forehead in that attractive way men with messy hair always seem to manage. He looks like George, but I know he’s not… and there isn’t that fluttery in my stomach when I look at him. Just a nice comfortable attraction.

“Sometimes I think about killing you-know-who and what’s for lunch,” jokes Fred. “Just to keep things interesting.”

“You’re terrible, but… I do really hate the idea of my first time being with some arse that my father finds for me overseas. That’s the plan you know… marry me off to some Russian to get me away from this mess. My brother works in the Ministry there as an ambassador. He’s looking for someone who will suit.”

“So that’s a yes?” Fred’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline.

“Why not? We’re friends after all. Might as well muddle through this with someone you can laugh about it later with.” I set my drink on the table, decision made. 

“What about your thing for George?” he asks, stunned.

“What about it? Nothing will ever come of it.”

“But… if it did, wouldn’t it be awkward?” he is red and uncomfortable as I pull my sweater over my head.

“But it won’t. And besides, it isn’t as if we’d ever tell him that I shagged his twin and pretended it was him the whole time. We both know you’re going to be pretending I’m my cousin the whole time.” 

Fred has confessed long ago he has a thing for my cousin, Hyacinth Bletchey who was in his year. I joked that it was too bad I couldn’t set them up, but Hyacinth is overseas right now. Her parents  
managed to send her to South America to pursue a masters in Herbology. They were worried about the Dark Lord’s return, and rightfully so. We look a bit alike, both taking after our mothers. We have the Selwyn looks.

“I don’t keep secrets from George,” Fred laughs nervously as I unbutton my blouse. 

“It’s not a secret if he never asks,” I whisper in his ear. Somehow… I know that both of us aren’t going to survive this war, and I have a heavy feeling it’s going to be me. There’s been a tone to the visions lately… a darkness. As if some of the future I’m viewing through a veil. My family has many unspeakables. I’ve heard whispers of the veil. I know what that means.

His freckled hands are tentative as he pulls away the rest of my clothes and lies me down in Hagrid’s giant bed. I close my eyes and I can pretend it’s his brother, and he pulls my hair to his face and cries when it’s over and I know we needed this. This one night to forget everything, and hold each other. Because tomorrow isn’t a sure thing. 

We leave just before dawn, the magic of the night gone, replaced with our usual friendship. I kiss him on the cheek, tracing my fingers over a few freckles along his brow. 

“See you after graduation,” I say with a grin. 

“I’ll owl you the details, love,” he smiles back.

I hurry back to the dormitory and don’t think much of the whole thing until much later. Because losing one’s virginity in the middle of a war to a good friend isn’t something you lose sleep over. It’s something that reminds you you’re alive, but you don’t really think much on the consequences. Being a seer, I should have thought more about how this would affect my future, but I’m typically more concerned with other people’s futures. Like Harry Potter’s the night of the final battle. Which I fled by the way, the slytherin that I am. The opportunity presented itself, and I scurried away as quickly as possible, because the Dark Lord is great and terrible, and not really someone I’d like to ever meet thank you very much. Let alone face down in a war.

I heard two days later. And I cried for weeks. Cried for the friend I had lost. Cried for the brother he lost. But mostly for me. 

It was high summer by the time I realized what was going on. Because I typically don’t keep track of that sort of thing. There’s never been any reason to, and honestly, who looks forward to something that inconvenient. And it’s always an inconvenience. 

So I didn’t really miss anything until I realized I’d been sick for two weeks, and could barely keep anything down, and yes… had missed my period. And my tits were sore. At that point, there wasn’t really a point in a pregnancy test. When they say Weasleys were fertile, they weren’t kidding. Which is rather… inconvenient. Especially when said Weasley is dead.

It was even more convenient that I had to be ‘tried’ for war crimes. The ministry on a good day is bad enough, let alone a day where you’re dehydrated and nauseated, and haven’t eaten anything except pickles in three days because, for some reason that’s all you can keep down right now. Luckily, I was quickly exonerated and able to escape the ministry mostly unscathed. 

Bastard children in pureblood society are frowned upon, but if the child is pureblooded… well. That still pacified my parents after the war, although I knew to expect condemnation from the rest of the world. I had my dowry, and my Wonder Witch profits. I bought a townhouse off of Diagon, down on Horizant. Daphne came by frequently to complain about Theo, and Draco to complain about Potter, and Millie to complain about her cat. But I no longer had my friend Fred to complain about his business, and his brothers, and his mum.


	2. Unplanned

Meanwhile, at the Burrow, Molly Weasley had returned from the battle of Hogwarts to find her son Fred’s hand on her magical clock permanently stuck on Mortal Peril, pointing directly up. The rest of her family’s hands moved at will around the clock now, but the spoon with Fred Weasley’s’ cracked face on it was stuck. It wasn’t until Harry’s birthday when she noticed it had changed. The crack through his spoon had furrowed further, splitting not only the portrait, but now the handle as well. A month later, the broken spoon moved, and Molly Weasley screamed so loud that Arthur thought Bellatrix Lestrange had risen from the dead and come looking for revenge. 

“It says home?” Ron’s voice was full of wonder.

“He’s not here, though,” reasoned Hermione. “He’s not even buried here. He’s at Hogwarts.”

“And the edges are rounding out,” pointed out Harry. “The fissure isn’t quite so… linear.”

“FUCK!” screamed Ron as the hand moved rapidly to hospital from home.

“Merlin’s pants, that’s eerie,” exclaimed Hermione. 

“Every Tuesday, like clockwork, eleven thirty,” Mrs. Weasley announced knowingly. “I haven’t worked up the nerve to tell George.”

“Tell George what?” came a voice from around the corner, a red head popping in. 

“Georgie, you’re home!” she exclaimed, watching as his clock face remained firmly on lost. 

“Stopped by to see if anyone wanted to come with me to the shop. I er… want to reopen in time for the back to school shopping… Fred… would have liked that.” A flurry of movement as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all leapt at the opportunity to help clean up the shop, certainly no trouble at all.

Within days the shop was back to normal. George ran his hand along the stocked shelves, checking somewhat obnoxiously for dust. He came to the front corner and frowned, looking at the partially empty Wonder Witch shelves. Fred had always been the packager, while George was the creator. He made the product, and Fred had developed the marketing plan and worked out the packaging and the little details. But George had never made the Wonder Witch Line. That was Fred’s brain child. All him. He would have to look through Fred’s things.

Looking through Fred’s things took several months, and in the end, all he found was a trail of withdraws marked Wonder Witch where large sums went missing from the books. Usually around the same time large numbers of Wonder Witch products were added to the inventory books. Fred’s Wonder Witch line appeared to be coming from an outside supplier. Huh…

The third week of November, Molly Weasley called the family together for a family dinner. There were two new hands on the clock and no one could explain them. 

“So Fred’s hand is completely gone?” sobbed George.

“It’s…. it’s still there, it’s just split into two new hands.” Molly was as baffled as anyone else.

“I just don’t understand!” exclaimed Percy. “There aren’t any pictures, but they seem fully functional.”

“You father and I added the pictures. The clock didn’t come with them,” Molly informed them.

“And you couldn’t have chosen a more flattering one for me?” demanded Ron.

“Well… they grew with you. How were we to know how you’d turn out?” protested Molly with a bit of a giggle, her humor coming out for one of the rare occasions it made an appearance any more.

It was two weeks before Christmas when the new line of Wonder Witch products arrived. Packaged in shiny pink packaging, it took nearly two dozen owls to carry the whole order. George and Percy, his new partner who had left the ministry and found he quite liked running a business, stood at the back door flabbergasted by the giant packages and were shocked to find the contents. The final bird held an invoice for several hundred galleons. Percy raised his brows, but George went to the safe and deftly counted the sum before tying it to the bird’s leg. Apparently the Wonder Witch line was back in stock.  
The product flew off the shelf, and George scratched his head that Fred had kept a secret from him for so long. Soon the shipments were reliable. Arriving on the first of the month, and always ready to go on the shelves. 

It wasn’t until his birthday that things got interesting. He’d contemplated not coming in to work that day. But he knew it would be busy, plus they were expecting the Wonder Witch shipment, so he rolled out of bed, and looked longingly at the bottle of firewhiskey. George got to the shop just in time to process the Wonder Witch shipment. He’d already sent the payment when he found the card.  
It was store bought, probably from Flourish and Blotts, and had a cake on the front with Happy Birthday in flashing letters across the top. He opened it, not sure why he didn’t throw it out like every other card he had gotten so far for his dratted birthday. The first one without Fred. His eyes burned. He focused on the neat handwriting inside.

“I’ve come up with the idea for a new line. Still tweaking. Need you to come up with proper marketing. Weasley Baby? Wonder Baby? So far we have the Neverwet Nappy, and the Breast to Bottle. I’m working on baby monitor blanket, but very early. It’s mostly charms, which makes this more difficult. Thanks in advance, P. P.S. Happy Birthday.”

It took him two weeks, but the Charming Child brand was the best he could come up with off the very little he was able to glean from the note. Two weeks after that, when he sent the preliminary marketing designs he and Percy had come up with, he got a note back. 

“Perfect, here’s the photo for the logo.” Enclosed with the note was a small photo of two babies, twins, bright violet eyes and bright red hair, the store colors, dressed in lime green and orange striped onesies laughing at each other on a pale purple blanket, toothless grins completely joyful. The photo made a part of George want to break down and cry, but also, smile. Because what was better than laughing babies?

The new line came out just in time for mother’s day. The Neverwet Nappy, the Breast to Bottle, the Magical Monitor, and the Charming Child Burp Cloth. His mother pronounced the entire line an instant success the second she got her hands on all the products. 

“Merlin, I wish I’d had one of these,” she’d laughed holding the magical monitor. “You would have gotten into so much less touble. And this is genius for working mums! And the spells are fairly basic, just the revolutionary ideas!”

“I can’t take the credit. It’s my Wonder Witch supplier who came up with the line.”

“Well, they did a good job. Where did you find the picture of you and Fred for the boxes?” she asked, fingering the photo that appeared on the packaging. 

“That isn’t me and Fred. I don’t know where the photo came from though,” he sighed. 

“It’s a good photo… and although the hair is red… the eyes are much to purple to be natural. Unless it’s a Selwyn.”

“I don’t know any Selwyns,” pointed out George.

“No… all the ones I knew married and changed names. Their brother lives abroad. But they all had violet eyes. Very distinctive. Their version of the Weasley hair.”

It was the back to school rush, when he noticed the woman with the double pram. It wasn’t unusual to see a pram in the store, considering the new line, which was selling really well despite the higher prices on the items. But it was a double pram that the woman was having problems maneuvering in the small space. 

“Let me help you, ma’am,” he said, stepping in and gently lifting the back of the pram to turn it. The dark head lifted, and he met a pair of startled violet eyes. Her dark curls framed a delicate heart shaped face, and her lips were reddened with the familiar color of the wonder witch everlasting lip colour, Lion’s Kiss. 

“I… George… I….” the young woman stuttered. She knew him, but she wasn’t a familiar face to him. “I’m sorry, I really must go,” she finally got out, her wide eyes darting to the door and getting the unwieldy pram out in record time. He barely had time to glance down at the two little sleeping children dressed in matching blue sweaters and short pants with ducks marching along the hem, red hair peeping out from under their caps. 

He hurried over to the register where Percy was working. “Have you ever seen that woman with the twins before?”

“Who?” asked Percy, looking up from a sale.

“The woman with the dark hair and the violet eyes. Pushing a double pram.”

“Oh, she’s a regular. She comes on Thursdays, so today’s right on time. Haven’t you ever noticed her? She always looks at the childrens and the wonder witch sections.”

“Thursdays are my day off. I’m only here since school starts next week,” muttered George thoughtfully. He was there the next week when she came back, hiding behind a large display, wearing a hat.

“That’s Pansy Parkinson,” said Ron around a mouthful of bread. “I’d recognize that pug nose anywhere.”

“Huh, I don’t remember her at all,” said George looking at the picture again. “She’s not married. I wonder if those are her children.”

“Hah, she always was a bit of a slag. Hanging about Malfoy.” 

“Ronald!” snapped Hermione, stepping behind him and brushing crumbs off his chest. “If hanging out with her male friend makes her a slag, then what do you suppose that makes me?”

“C’mon, you know everyone thought you and Harry were shagging,” laughed George, causing Ron to turn red and sputter.

“Fine, she’s not a slag, but she did try to turn Harry over the night of the Battle,” huffed Ron. 

“Pansy?” asked Harry, stepping into the Burrow’s kitchen from outside, his hair windblown, Ginny stumbling in behind him with a face red from the wind and lips mysteriously swollen. 

“Yeah, George here said Parkinson’s been casing the store every Thursday. Sounds like something the duputy head auror should investigate, if you ask me,” suggested Ron.

“You really shouldn’t hold a grudge against her for what happened in the war. In all fairness, she is a seer, and had had visions of me dying at Voldemort’s hands, but only after I walked through the great hall full of bodies. She honestly hoped turning me over would prevent bloodshed.”

“What?” demanded Hermione. “Are you kidding?”

“Unfortuneately no. Poor girl had terrible visions of the final battle all of seventh year. The mind healer who testified at her trial was really convinced, and how could she have known all the details of what happened in the forest. I hadn’t told anyone what happened, and she knew everything. I feel sorta sorry for her.”

“How did I not know this?” demanded Hermione.

“Merlin’s balls, something Hermione Granger doesn’t know! Quick, take a picture! Alert the press!” squealed Ron, earning a smack upside the head from his wife.

“That’s Hermione Granger-Weasley to you,” she snapped, hiding her smile behind her bushy hair as Ron pretended to cradle his head.

“She sends us those anonymous tips about upcoming crimes once in a while. I only know it’s her because Robards had me investigate where they were coming from a few months back. She’s fairly reliable when it comes to her seer abilities if you ask me.”

“Huh, who would have thought that divination bullshit was legit,” muttered Ron, looking back at the photo George had taken of the dark haired witch. Her violet eyes were more startling than he remembered from school, her nose less piggish, merely upturned. The woman in the photograph, looked down at the contents of the pram, and her face turned angelic, a white toothed smile blooming on her face before one last look over her shoulder as if to ensure no one had seen the moment of weakness. 

“So, why are we talking about Parkinson?” asked Harry, pulling a glass from the shelf.

“George is fascinated with her, and she keeps coming by the store.” Ron shook his head at his brother.

“I’m not fascinated with her. I’m just… she’s… an enigma.”

“She’s probably just checking up on her line,” said Harry taking a drink.

“What?”

“You know… the Wonder Witch stuff. She’s probably just checking up on what she needs to send to restock. What’s doing well. Inventory.”

“WHAT?” a flabbergasted George exclaimed.

“You do know that she’s the Wonder Witch creator right?” asked Harry. “Am I the only one who ever read the original paperwork on the store you guys sent me?” 

“I mean… Fred and the lawyers did all that,” sputtered George.

“Well… Parkinson is the creator of the Wonder Witch line, and she was the one who reinvested all her original profits so you could buy the shop on Diagon, instead of the one just off Diagon like you originally planned. I’m pretty sure her name is on the deed to the shop, and your apartment for that matter.”

“Are you shitting me?” asked George, slack jawed.

“What, you didn’t think she and Fred were just friends that liked to hang out all the time, right?” asked Harry. “They always used to meet in Hogsmead to talk business.”

“I didn’t know she was meeting him. Hell, I didn’t even know who she was.”

“Well, you can probably thank her for her excellent head in business. She’s the only reason I even shop there,” laughed Ginny. “It’s weird you and Fred never talked about her.”

“I… I guess he had secrets from me,” muttered a sad sounding George, causing Ginny to wince. 

“Maybe he had a reason,” suggested Hermione. “You don’t know what deal he made with Pansy. Maybe she didn’t want other people knowing about her contribution.”

“Since when were Fred and I ever ‘other people’!” demanded George, face flushing, all laughter gone from his face. “We didn’t have secrets!”

“Maybe it wasn’t his secret,” Hermione answered softly. “Maybe you should see what Pansy says. She might be a connection to Fred you didn’t realize you had.”

Three days later, armed with the business contracts he’d signed long ago and never read, George Weasley raised a fist to knock on the door of a red brick townhome on Horizant Alley. The door opened away from his fist before it could make contact.

Stepping back, George looked down at the small house elf who had answered the door in dark purple livery. “Miss is waiting for you in the parlor.” 

Numbly, George followed the small elf as it bounced along the brightly lit hall to a sunny parlor overlooking the back garden. Tea was laid out, his favorites from the bakery in Diagon Alley sitting on a tray next to a tray of sandwiches. A short dark haired witch looked up from the book she was perusing to greet him. “Right on time,” she said with a nod to the elf. “Thank you Barrows, that will be all for now.”

“How…”

“I dreamed you were coming, two nights ago. Obviously, if you meant to take me by surprise… better luck next time,” she sighed, taking a seat next to the tea things and pouring a cup before adding a dash of cream and handing it to him as he sat obediently, taking in his surroundings. The room was cozy, a piano in the corner, a fireplace roaring along the far wall. The furniture delicate and feminine, but strong enough for him to feel comfortable sitting in. The whole place screamed class and money, and he felt shabby in his everyday work robes. She was wearing a pretty blue dress and had pearls draped around her neck, her dark curls framing her face as she served him some sandwiches and a selection of tea treats.

“I didn’t even decide I was coming until today,” he sputtered, taking a mechanical sip of his tea, finding it was prepared exactly as he preferred. 

“And here we are,” she said, fumbling with a napkin in her lap, betraying her nervousness in the lack of things to occupy her hands with. She hastily prepared a plate for herself and began eating a sandwich. 

“Do you know why I came?” he asked, unsure if he truly knew the answer.

“I… Well… I’m not really sure why. There could be several reasons, I suppose,” she finally managed, looking uncomfortable. 

“I’ll come right out with it then, the Wonder Witch line is doing amazing” he said watching as a look of horror briefly passed her face before turning to relief before the mask fell back in place. “The Charming Child line as well.”

“Thank you. I gathered as much from my royalties,” she answered looking away. Those purple eyes doing something to him that he didn’t exactly care to analyze. 

“Why the secrecy?” he finally came out and asked. “Why didn’t you come forward to me after the war. Deal with me the way you dealt with Fred?”

“I was busy...” she caged. “And it was easier this way. I… You’re nothing like him, and I’ve never really spoke with you…”

“So you’re going to claim you’re shy?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t owe you any explanations!” she snapped, fire shooting out of her eyes toward him, making him feel more alive than he had in months.

“I find it interesting you say we’re nothing alike. Once again proving you don’t know me.”

“You’re very different. For instance, you’re the idea man, but he was the business man. Thank goodness your brother Percy has stepped up. I was going send a lawyer to start keeping the books for you.”

“Well you’re a regular Hermione Granger, miss know-it-all.”

“Hardly. And she’s Granger-Weasley now.”

“So she is,” he said studying the small witch in front of him. Her eyes kept darting to the door as if she was contemplating escape, and she seemed twitchy. “Do I make you nervous, Miss Parkinson?”

“I… I didn’t think it would be this difficult to see you again,” she laughed lightly, honesty coloring her words. 

“I can’t say we’ve really spoken before, so the whole again thing is a bit of a lie. You can be honest about how awful it is to see me when he’s gone. Everyone else is too embarrassed to say, but…”

“That’s not it. I mean… it is odd to see you without him. But I’ve not dealt with the two of you as a pair anyway.”

“What was the nature of your relationship with my brother, Miss Parkinson?”

“Oh for the love of Merlin, stop calling me that!” she finally snapped, getting to her feet and pacing. “We were friends! Fuck it… we were good friends! And business partners too, but friends. He knew my secrets, and I knew his! Okay!”

“My brother was an open book, he didn’t have secrets from anyone,” laughed George harshly.

“Did he tell you he had a crush on my cousin? That he was going to go to South America to ask her dancing when the war was over?”

“Who?”

“That’s right! He had secrets! ME! I was a dirty stupid secret! And if you could leave well enough alone, I’d like to go back to that. Because… fuck… why are you here!?”

“I wanted to know why my brother never told me about you,” he finally confessed, to himself and her really.

“BECAUSE I ASKED HIM NOT TO!” she exclaimed, completely losing her cool. 

“Why?”

“Miss Pandora,” a voice at the door interrupted any answer she could have given, thankfully saving her from further embarrassment. “You are needed upstairs,” a small female elf announced. 

“I’ve got to go… I’m… Oh, Merlin…” she flushed red and rushed out of the room in a flurry of blue silk. George fell back into the chair and rubbed his temples. What an odd witch. And he felt this odd pull toward her. He wondered again why Fred would have chosen not to share his friendship with Pansy. 

A shrill crying echoed from another room, a child. He wondered if the children she pushed in the pram were really hers, if so, they must be rather young considering she hadn’t been out of Hogwarts a full year. An idea suddenly struck him and he wondered suddenly if they were the babies on the Charming Children’s line. His feet moved him to the door and he found himself mounting the stairs and following a hallway to the nursery. 

“There there,” Pansy had a burp cloth draped over a shoulder and a small red head resting against either side of her neck. “Mummy’s here, no more fussing.” The closest head turned and bright violet eyes looked at him out of a delicate baby face red from crying. The elf was standing in the corner looking rather overwhelmed, but the babies seemed to have settled. 

“They can tell I’m stressed, it’s not your fault Deeny. The last thing we need is them doing accidental magic again.”

“Your kids are already doing accidental magic?” asked George, startling her. She turned to glare at him with flaming purple eyes.

“I’m certain that you weren’t invited here.”

“Did you try putting them together?” he gestured to the two cribs on opposite sides of the nursery. “Mum put us together and we settled down just right.”

“Huh,” she tilted her head and took a look at the two cribs. He rushed forward and took the baby on her left, settling him gently in his crib before reaching for the second one, taking him and settling him in as well. The two babies looked up at him before looking over at each other and grinning little baby smiles at each other. 

“See, happy as clams,” he pronounced feeling proud of himself. 

“You’re quite good with babies,” she muttered jealousy coming out in her words. 

“Lots of siblings, and I’ve been sitting Victoire, my new little niece a few times a week. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He watched Pansy’s face fall as she looked at him. He turned and looked at the little boys in the crib, evaluating them for the first time.

“Don’t be mad,” he heard her whisper as the realization washed over him.


	3. Unconventional

“Don’t be mad,” he heard her whisper as the realization washed over him. Spinning he looked at the small witch who had backed herself into a corner and was holding her wand with a white knucked grip, as if he just might lose it and attack her. He ran a hand through his hair and groaned with frustration at how volatile his emotions were since his twin passed. And now this. Turning back around he reached down and gently ran a hand over the soft red hair of the closest twin, both of whom were now sleeping.

“What are their names?” he finally asked.

“Helios and Risus,” she whispered. “I call them Leo and Rion though.”

“Sunshine and laughter, Lion and King,” he murmured. “Very apt.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Ohh… don’t apologize to me,” he gave a dark laugh. The kind of laugh he had learned after the war. “Save the apologies for my mother.”

“You’re joking,” she sputtered.

“I don’t joke much anymore,” he shot back.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

“Sometimes the best things are the ones you didn’t see coming,” he muttered, stroking a finger over a pale cheek.

“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded, looking at the two little slumbering bodies.

“So you and Fred?” he looked up at her with what might have passed for mischief in his eyes.

“Oh Merlin no… I mean… well the once… but…” her face was beet red, and he ceased to wonder what his brother saw in her. “I mean… the Weasley men are very…. Erm…. Prolific…”

“Just once?” he raised an eyebrow.

“We didn’t want to die virgins!” she finally spat out, turning an even deeper shade of purple.

“Huh….” He shrugged looking back at the twins. “So you weren’t having a torrid love affair behind my back?”

“We were friends. We knew neither of us could have who we really wanted, what with Hyacinth off in Argentina, and… well… I suppose it was the next best thing.”

“Left you in a bit of a bind,” he crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her.

“I named them sunshine and laughter, not sadness and tragedy,” she shot back. “I run a successful business from my home. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We both know what happens to pureblooded women who fall from grace,” he shot back.

“What are you getting at here?” she asked crossing her arms and standing taller.

“I’m just saying that it’s your word vs mine that those are Fred’s children, not mine.”

“ _What?”_

“Fred and I are genetically identical, so you might have a bit of trouble if I were to pose a custody suit to the wizegamot. And considering I’m a war hero, and you’re…” he made a gesture to her.

“Is this a threat?” she asked taking a step toward the crib, trying to place herself between him and her children.

“It’s a promise of what I’m going to do unless you do the right thing and marry me.”

“ _Are you fucking me_?” she demanded, all pretense of pureblooded propriety lost.

“I’m not losing the last thing on this earth tying me to my brother. I’ve just regained control over my life, I’m not going to step aside and just let you take this from me too.”

“I…” she suddenly sank down on the floor and put her head between her knees. “I’m sorry, but they aren’t yours. They are mine, and if you think you can take control of them… of us…”

“You know how bastard children are looked at at Hogwarts. Especially if they ended up in Slytherin where there would be rampant speculation they were a halfblood. With the way politics are headed, surely that will be a greater transgression than being a muggleborn within ten years, by the time that they arrive at Hogwarts.”

“That’s not a good reason to marry me!” she squeaked.

“Fred would have done it. And he would have done it for me if I had died.”

“No… he wouldn’t have. He wasn’t as good as you,” she protested.

“He would have married you,” George gave no room for argument.

“Not if it wasn’t his child. They aren’t your children. You are their uncle.”

“I don’t care what slytherin plot you try to come up with wiggle out of this; it won’t work. I’ll get the license tomorrow.” He pointed a finger at her chest before turning and heading into the hall.

“What about Spinnet!?” she asked desperately.

“Alicia?” he stopped in his tracks as he turned to look at her, tears in her eyes, looking small and pathetic in the shadows of the hallway. “I haven’t seen her since school? What about her?”

“Don’t you have a thing for her or something? Or anyone? You’re sacrificing love for this!”

“Love is giving someone the power to destroy you. I don’t plan on doing something as stupid as that again,” George answered with that dark laugh he had acquired. “My heart is too mangled for that.”

“What about the twins?”

“That’s different, don’t you see?” He spun on his heel and headed out the door.

“No,” she whispered sadly from the stairs as she watched the door click shut behind him.

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” announced George at dinner that night, an impromptu family dinner he had requested his mother arrange.

“What?!” spat Ron, food falling out of his mouth.

“You’re shitting us,” laughed Ginny.

“No,” he frowned. “Fred left some things for me to take care of, and I’m just now getting around to it. I’ll be moving from above the shop as well. I’ll have to get you my new address.”

“What about your wife? Who is she?!” exclaimed Molly Weasley frantically trying to get a grasp on what was going on with her son.

“She’s a friend of Fred’s. He would want me to take care of her.”

“Oh Merlin, it’s Parkinson isn’t it?” demanded Ron. “What sort of spell did she cast on you?”

“None…. I… It’s just… there are two little boys that need me.”

“Oh Merlin,” exclaimed Molly looking over at the clock. “Fred didn’t.”

“Don’t worry mother, I’m taking care of it,” said George.

“By tying yourself to that bitch!” exclaimed Ginny furiously. “We can’t let you do this.”

“Enough!” George slammed his fists on the table. “She’s the mother of my children. You will accept her, or you will feel the consequences.”

The rest of the meal passed in awkward silence until Molly mentioned she would have a cake and a family dinner the following evening. “I’ll make your favorite,” she said. “Pork chops and beans.”

The next day, George practically dragged Pansy to the ministry where they said their vows in front of a very old bespeckled wizard in the Family Law courtrooms.

“Happy?” she hissed on the way out of the ministry.

“Estatic,” he replied. “I’ll move my things into your place this afternoon. I took the whole day off and then we’ll have dinner at my parents.”

“What about my parents?”

“What about them?”

“We can see them for dinner tomorrow I suppose. My brothers work here, so I’m certain they will be passing it to my parents this evening or at the soonest they hear. Nothing remains a secret for long in the Parkinson family.”

Pansy wore her blue dress, silver pumps and pearls like armor that evening to dinner. With a twin on each hip, she walked through the floo, calmly met Molly Weasley’s eyes saying, “I’m Pansy, you can hold Leo, Rion is shy.”

Molly, stunned to be holding her first grandson, didn’t have time to attack the dark haired witch, who went to the saggy Weasley family sofa and sat there quietly playing with her younger son until dinner time. Dinner was a stilted affair, Pansy immersed herself in the feeding of the twins who were very interested in the new variety of foods their grandmum had prepared. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all appeared to watch her the entire meal. Luckily, no one really said much of anything, and Arthur’s ramblings about the new hire in the department of Muggle relations filled the silence.

“I really must get the boys to bed,” said Pansy, standing shortly after pie and coffee arrived at the table. “Thank you for dinner, Molly. We obviously loved it, although the boys insisted on wearing half of it. We will have to return the favor soon.”

She had gathered her boys and was standing by the floo before anyone else could get up. “George, if you could toss the floo powder?” she asked, causing him to rise from his half eaten dessert.

“You’re actually leaving? It’s barely half seven.”

“The boys will be cranky if we stay much later. And I still try and nurse them after meals. You can stay as late as you like, but I need to get them to bed. See you later.” He sighed and threw the floo powder, allowing her to leave.

She got the boys ready for bed, bathing and nursing them before settling them into their crib. They really did do much better together. She wrapped her dressing gown around her shoulders and backed out of their room, closing the door with a soft click.

“It’s strange,” came a voice behind her, causing her to whirl and clasp at the edges of her dressing gown. “Seeing you mother my brother’s children, knowing you’ve been doing it for months and I was completely unaware.”

“You want to sit with them? They were nodding off, but you can sit with them,” she suggested, unsure of the glint in his eye.

“I can see why Fred chose you, of all the women he could have chosen. What I don’t understand is why you chose him? If it wasn’t a great love affair as you claim.”

She looked down and noticed her silk dressing gown over her nightdress wasn’t exactly hiding much, and her nipples were poking at the fabric.

“I was near certain I was going to die, and he was convinced of the same,” she answered, crossing her arms over herself. “I don’t owe you any explanations beyond the fact that it happened, and I don’t think you’ll be getting any from him. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m rather tired. It has been a long day.”

“I suppose it has, goodnight,” he absently bent and kissed her hair as he passed her to enter the twins room. “I’ll sit up with them a bit.”

Pansy walked in a daze to her room, wondering if she would have felt the same electric bolt with anyone else, and how he felt nothing.

The next morning, she woke, completely wrapped around him. He smelled good, she thought irritated to find she was blushing all over. Also, since when were they sharing a bed? This was an in name marriage only.

She hurried to the twins room to nurse them and start her day. Lifting the boys out of their crib, their blue eyes still sleepy, she treasured the quiet moments with them. Her favorite part of her day, before she went downstairs and began brewing for the day. The twins usually spent the morning with her house elf, and then she was able to spend the afternoon with them. She leaned back in her rocker and relaxed, closing her eyes.

She was almost asleep when the boys lost interest, which was just as well since Rawley was sure to have a breakfast for them shortly. Lifting them up on her shoulders she patted their backs, satisfied when each let out a rude belch in her ear. Reaching for her wand on the side table to call Rawley, she felt herself flush as she saw George leaning against the doorframe.

“Didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, his ears flushing a deep red. “I heard you get up and thought you might need some help.” He ruffled his wavy red hair, mussing it more than sleep already had, giving him the look of a small boy in trouble.

“I… I wasn’t expecting to see you there,” she finally said, breaking the terrible silence. “Here, take Leo. Rawley will be up any minute to take them for the morning.” She passed him the twin, gently tucking herself into her nightdress as she did so.

“I watched last night too…. I feel like I have to confess.” He turned bright red, and Pansy had a feeling he hadn’t meant to confess. His eyes darted back to her chest and she felt her cheeks flush.

“Well… how do I stack up then? Against Spinnet and Bones.” She didn’t mean to let it slip out she knew who he had slept with.

“What?” his face flamed even brighter. “Well…. Merlin’s balls…”

“The curse you’re searching for is Morgan’s tits…” joked Pansy trying to lighten the heavily awkward moment.

“Of course… your… umm… lovely… see you for dinner.” He backed out of the room handing the twin to the arriving house elf, red faced. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

Dinner with the Parkinson family ended up being much more relaxed, to George’s surprise. Her family adored the babies for all the fuss they made when Pansy bore them out of wedlock, and having George as a husband now meant all was forgiven. Her brothers welcomed him with opened arms and were thrilled to discuss the post war business market and the new tax laws the ministry had recently passed which affected Pansy and George’s business.

“All this talk of commerce at the dinner table is crass,” complained Violet Parkinson. “I want to hear how George here managed to father the twins all this time ago, and is only now stepping forward.”

“Mum!” exclaimed Pansy. “George isn’t the father.”

“His magical signature is all over them!”

“My twin brother passed during the war. I wanted to step in,” interjected George.

“But wasn’t he the one you had that little crush on?” Violet shook her head. “No, this is the one you liked.”

“Fred was the father,” Pansy said in a voice that allowed no room for further discussion.

“So, what position do you play for quidditch?” asked Patrick, changing the subject with a glare to his wife.

Pansy marched stiffly through the floo after dinner Leo cradled in her arms, ignoring the questioning looks from her husband.

“I’d thank you to please leave while I put the boys to bed,” she said as he followed her to the nursery.

“Aren’t we going to talk about this?”

“No,” she said. “As much as I would love to awkwardly dissect my relationship with my family… another time.”

“Was your mother right though? Was Fred acting as a substitute for me the night the twins were conceived?”

“No, he was a stand in for Percy because I have a thing for redheaded ministry swots.”

“But by that logic, Fred would have been just as good as me. We were the same!”

“No, you weren’t. My skin knows your touch with my eyes closed. My soul knows you from across the room. I can’t explain it, but there it is George. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

“Pansy.”

“LEAVE!” she gasped, mortified at her confession. “Please.”

After finally putting the boys in their crib, she gently shut the door behind herself, to find herself face to face with her husband.

“Before you say anything,” he said holding his hand out to her. “Let me just say. I want to start again with you. As a friend, and a coworker, as a husband…”

“George, we can’t. We can’t go back to the beginning.”

“But we can begin now, and make a new ending.”

“How?” she asked.

“With a kiss,” he said stepping forward and giving her the most heart stopping kiss of her life. The kiss was everything she had always known it would be from the moment she saw him walking across the courtyard in fifth year and noticed him for the first time.

Six months later:

“The twins have been getting into so much more trouble lately. It’s like they turned one, and they decided, we are going to pay our dad back for every thing he ever did to his parents. They are terrors, and to top it off, Pansy told me last night she’s pregnant again. The healer confirmed it yesterday. I’m thrilled because obviously… I’ll be there for everything, but also a little terrified, because can we really handle another one in addition to Leo and Rion. Like, how did mum and dad even think to have Ron or Ginny? Or us for that matter? Weren’t Bill, Percy, and Charlie enough? Not that I’m complaining… But… wow. Pansy and I aren’t cut out for that. Hopefully this one is a girl. If not, Pansy probably will want more. Not that we were trying this time mind you. It’s those Weasley genes.

Pansy is doing well. I still don’t fully understand why you never introduced us. Probably not the right timing or something. Or maybe you wanted her to yourself while you could. Sometimes I feel like she’s the gift you gave me from beyond the grave. I still feel like a part of my soul is missing, but whatever souls are made of, hers and mine are the same. And that helps.


End file.
